The whisper came from the top of the stairs. Clariel turned quickly, ready to draw her knife. But it was Roban. He was obviously ill at ease and would not climb the last few steps to the roof garden. He remained in shadow, only his face illuminated by the light from the ancient Charter-spelled lantern of filigreed silver that hung on a tall pole at the stairhead.

‘Only got a minute,’ he said. ‘Watch change in a moment, I’ll be off home. And I can’t tell you much, milady. It’s all politics and plots, beyond my ken. All I know is I was ordered to take part in the mummery with Aronzo –’

‘Aronzo? Is that the name of the young man who attacked me?’

‘Yes, and on no account to hurt him, not that I needed to be told twice, him being Guildmaster Kilp’s son –’

‘His son!’

‘The older one. The younger brother’s an ox, good-natured and not like his father, whereas Aronzo is too much like – fair-looking he is, but as cold and vicious as an eel, and as quick to strike.’

‘I don’t understand this at all,’ protested Clariel. She frowned. As far as she could tell, Roban was speaking truthfully. There was a Charter spell to compel plain-speaking, but she didn’t know it. In fact, she knew very few Charter Magic spells and hadn’t cast even the ones she did know for months. Besides, Roban doubtless would be offended to have his veracity questioned.

‘Kilp has staged similar “attacks” before, making excuses to intervene in the business and territories of other Guilds. I think that’s what it was about … but there might be more …’

He hesitated, and shifted on the step, clearing his throat as if it had suddenly gone dry.

‘What?’

‘I’m only guessing,’ muttered Roban, ‘and smarter folk than I might guess otherwise. But Kilp is Governor because he is Guildmaster of the Goldsmiths, and it is the middle of the Goldsmiths’ turn, with three years to go. But the Goldsmiths have an election coming up this year, and Kilp could be unseated, say by the most famous Goldsmith in the Kingdom. No longer Guildmaster, no longer Governor.’

‘You mean Mother?’ asked Clariel. ‘But she doesn’t give a … a grain of copper … for politics!’

‘Your mother is also the King’s cousin,’ said Roban. ‘In a Kingdom where the King does not care to rule, and none know where his heir has got to, maybe not even the King himself –’

‘Princess Tathiel? I thought she was dead. Years ago.’

‘She may be. Who knows? The King cannot or will not say.’

‘You think Mother wants to be Guildmaster, and Governor, and … and Queen?’

‘I don’t know, milady. But perhaps Kilp thinks she does, and that attack on you was a warning: unless she limits her ambitions, harm will come to those she holds dear.’